In the car headed to PhoenixI tell you that it’s one minute beforemidnight, you’re still the princess,anything is possible.I want our lips to wrestle, but yourtongue is busy with salt tablets,on the phone cursing your lesbian lover,weaving across the half-eaten yellow lines,the seatbelt trying to strangle me.You laugh, shouting to your breasts,settle down fellas, guided by the spiritsdriving even faster to make me feellike public enemy number one.Perhaps another time you wouldof pulled off the road, I would of saidsomething like, the world is a white dress,an enormous stage, the two of us nakedas rain. This time we would disappear intoa small town, the low-beams of passing carstickling the deadbolt on the door.You scream, slow it down, so the twous wait for a summer storm, for a fistfightbetween ex-lovers, for your blackhair to turn sidewalk gray.